Nowhere to go, but everywhere.

When I started thinking about getting my own car, I wanted something that actually felt like me — cute, a little compact, but more capable than it looked. I didn't initially love the look of MINIs. But in 2018 I sat down in a MINI Cooper S convertible at a dealership on a whim, and something clicked. I knew immediately it was the car for me.

Driving that convertible made driving fun — which sounds simple, but I'd always dreaded it before. I hate air conditioning and prefer windows down anyway, so having the top fully removable was something else entirely. There's nothing like it. Wind in your face, music up, open road — it changed how I thought about getting from place to place.

Eventually, as Sora grew and our adventures got bigger, I traded the convertible for the Countryman — the compact SUV version, with all-wheel drive and enough room for a dog, a human, and a week's worth of gear. Same spirit, more capable. And the trips just kept getting longer. Here's where we've been.

The Move That Started It All

After months of quarantine with just my dog and four walls, something shifted. I kept having this urge to leave — to pack up and go somewhere new. My engineering job had gone fully remote, which meant I could essentially copy-paste my life anywhere. I made lists of cities. I kept landing on Denver. I'd never been, didn't know a single person there. It was COVID. If I could survive isolation in Virginia, I could survive it in Colorado.

In June 2020, I signed a four-month furnished lease and started packing. Everything I could fit went into the MINI Cooper convertible. Virginia → Maryland → West Virginia → Ohio → Indiana → Missouri → Kansas → Denver. Sora went in the passenger seat. We headed west with no plan beyond "if I'm unhappy, I can always go back."

I wasn't outdoorsy — not really. But I figured I could learn if I had to, and I had Sora. That first Colorado summer was solo hikes and wildflowers and figuring out that you don't need to know what you're doing to start. After a year of that, I was ready to try somewhere new. Same plan, new city: upgraded to a Countryman for extra space, packed up again, and moved to Seattle.

Since then we haven't really stopped. 52+ trails. Desert skies in Utah. The California Redwoods. The Pacific Coast Highway. The Oregon coast. Snowshoeing in New Mexico. Crossing into Canada. Alpine lakes and paddleboards. A holiday road trip last winter through Chicago, Boston, New York, and DC. If I have her, I can go anywhere and know I'll be okay. She's the reason I stopped letting fear make my decisions.

Colorado: Home Base

That first summer in Colorado, the convertible earned its stripes. I drove it up Pikes Peak — all 14,000 feet of it, in manual mode, because the car required it. The switchbacks, the altitude, the thin air: the little convertible handled all of it without complaint. MINIs belong in the mountains.

The Upgrade

As I started exploring more of Colorado, I realized I needed more space and all-wheel drive to stay safe in the mountain winters. That first winter I upgraded to a blue 2020 MINI Cooper S Countryman — and added a Yakima cargo box on the roof for extra gear storage on road trips. It opened everything up. The AWD handled the mountain passes and ski resort runs without drama, and the cargo box meant I could pack for a week without cramming the interior. Denver became the anchor and Colorado became the proving ground. Winters were for the ski resorts — Breckenridge, A-Basin, Keystone, Winter Park, Copper, Vail, Beaver Creek, Eldora, Aspen Snowmass, Steamboat Springs. Summers were for the high passes: Independence Pass up to Aspen and Maroon Bells, Twin Lakes in every season, the mountain loop down to Taos. The four national parks — Rocky Mountain, Great Sand Dunes, Black Canyon, Mesa Verde — all done from that same car. The full Colorado road trip loop is one of the best things you can do in the American West, and you don't need a truck to do it.

Building It Out

Over the years the Countryman has picked up a few additions that made it a proper adventure vehicle. The Yakima cargo box was the first and most impactful — suddenly a week's worth of gear, ski equipment, or camping kit could live on the roof instead of the back seat. A roof rack made it possible to bring bikes along, which opened up a whole different way of exploring. In the summers in Washington, the cargo box became the go-to for paddleboard and SUP gear — the lakes out here are everywhere, and being able to just load up the inflatable board and drive to whichever one looked best that day is exactly the kind of spontaneous trip a MINI was made for. Small car, big capability.

Colorado Winters

One of the best decisions I made early on was putting all-season tires on the Countryman. In Colorado winters, that meant driving on icy mountain roads and snowy highways to ski resorts without issue — while plenty of larger vehicles around me were spinning out or pulling over. In the summer, those same tires handled dirt roads, gravel passes, and the occasional rocky pull-off without complaint. Good all-season tires on a MINI will take you further than most people assume.

The Desert

Something about the desert and a MINI just works. Maybe it's the contrast — a small, rounded British car against the massive red geometry of canyon country. We've driven Vegas through Zion and Bryce Canyon to Moab more than once, and Moab alone has pulled us back five times — for rock climbing, mountain biking, hiking, and some of the darkest skies I've ever photographed. The desert strips everything down. The drive there is half the point.

The Pacific Northwest

The move from Denver to Seattle was a road trip in itself — through Jackson Hole and the Grand Tetons, down through Boise, into Bend, and up the Oregon coast. I did it twice, both times stopping at Jackson Hole, and it never got old.

When the Countryman found its new home in Seattle, Washington opened up. Washington is made for driving. The Olympic Peninsula has pulled us back four or five times — always camping at Kalaloch Beach, always making the drive out to Cape Flattery at the very edge of the continent, always spending time in the Hoh Rainforest where the trees drip with moss and the world goes quiet. We've done Mt Rainier and the North Cascades, up to the Mt Baker area, summited Mt St Helens, the charming Bavarian village of Leavenworth, and east across the state to Spokane and Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. The Washington road trip map barely scratches the surface of what's out there.

Oregon

Oregon deserves its own chapter. Bend has become a ritual — it shows up on nearly every route south, a reliable place to stop, breathe mountain air, and eat an Ocean Roll from Sparrow Bakery. From Seattle we've driven down through Portland, done the Mt Hood Fruit Loop in summer and snowshoed the ski area in winter, then followed the Oregon coast south through Cannon Beach and into the Redwoods. The Tamolitch Blue Pool near Bend is one of the most surreal things I've seen anywhere — a river that disappears into lava and resurfaces as an impossibly bright blue pool in the forest. It rained on us the whole hike and we didn't care.

Ferries of the Pacific Northwest

One of the things I didn't expect about living in the Pacific Northwest is how much of road tripping here involves ferries. The car goes on the boat, the boat crosses the water, and then you keep driving — it becomes completely natural. The Washington State ferries are practically a commuter system at this point: we've taken them to Bainbridge Island and Vashon Island for day trips, and Whidbey Island for longer weekends. Getting to the Olympic Peninsula means taking the Bainbridge ferry out of Seattle, which is honestly part of what makes that trip feel like a proper departure. We've taken the Black Ball Ferry from Port Angeles over to Victoria, BC twice, Sora posted up in the window watching the strait pass by. The BC Ferries run from Horseshoe Bay in Vancouver over to Gibsons on the Sunshine Coast, which is how we got to Sechelt. Each crossing is its own small adventure, a pause in the drive where all you can do is stand on the deck and look at the water.

Canada

Living in Seattle means Canada is right there. We've driven up to Vancouver and Squamish three times, made the Whistler run six times for ski season, and taken the ferry over to the Sunshine Coast to explore Sechelt. Port Townsend too, for a slower kind of weekend. Canada has always felt like an extension of the same road, not a different one.

California

The California coast trip with Sora was one of the most meaningful drives I've taken. San Francisco down through Monterey, Big Sur wrapped in thick summer fog, Los Angeles, San Diego. Big Sur in the fog stays with me. I arrived expecting epic views and got something better — a sense of scale that the weather was deciding, not me.

Another trip took us from Seattle through the Oregon coast and Redwoods to Napa and San Francisco — and then the highway to Yosemite closed overnight due to a mudslide. I rerouted through Fresno, through the Central Valley heat, out to Las Vegas, and into the desert instead. It was the most fun I had on that trip. Hotels with good refund policies are worth every penny.

Arizona & New Mexico

Getting back to Denver from San Diego meant heading east through Scottsdale and up through Santa Fe — desert and high desert in quick succession, a completely different landscape than the coast we'd just left.

The Big Loop

The most ambitious trip started in Seattle and went... everywhere. We drove to Crested Butte first — wildflower season, and the first time Sora and I had ever been there. The valley was full of color in every direction.

Then Ridgway, Ouray, Telluride, Durango, Mesa Verde, Grand Mesa. Up through Salt Lake City, across the Bonneville Salt Flats, and to Lake Tahoe.

Then Jackson Hole, Grand Teton, Yellowstone, Bozeman, Missoula, Kalispell, and finally Glacier National Park — Going-to-the-Sun Road with my hands out the window, the northern mountain air coming through like a reminder that the world is very large and very good. Back through Idaho and Oregon — including Crater Lake National Park, that impossibly blue caldera in the middle of the forest — and home to Seattle. The MINI logged serious miles on that one and asked nothing in return.

Going East

One winter I drove east. Not a quick trip — all the way across. Denver through Nebraska, Iowa, and Chicago, through Indiana and Ohio, up to Boston and Connecticut, and into New York City. I parked in upper Manhattan, right near Central Park. In a MINI. The parking spots that defeat full-size cars are a non-issue in a Countryman, and navigating the city felt manageable in a way I didn't expect. Then south through Baltimore — an old home — and down through DC and Virginia.

A separate trip took me from Virginia up the Atlantic coast to Acadia National Park in Maine, across to Portland, through New Hampshire, and into Burlington, Vermont. The East Coast trips feel different from the Western ones — more layered, more complicated, less sky — but the car handles them just as well.

The Perfect Car for a Dog Co-Pilot

No road trip is really complete without your dog. That's just the truth. Sora is a Shikoku Ken, a Japanese mountain breed, and she has logged more road trip miles in this car than most humans do in a lifetime. One of her simplest pleasures is looking out the window on a drive — she loves nothing more. And I love nothing more than glancing in my mirror while I'm driving and seeing her little nose poking out, wiggling in the wind, that little smile on her face. It never gets old.

People ask whether a MINI is practical for traveling with a dog. Easily — and not just one. I've done plenty of trips with two dogs, including bigger dogs, and the Countryman handles it fine. Two people, two dogs, gear for a week: it all fits. The rear seat has room for a dog bed, the hatch is deep, and the car's manageable size means you can find dog-friendly spots, pull over fast when they need a break, and squeeze into trailhead parking that defeats everyone else. Sora has been to national parks, beaches, mountain summits, and city neighborhoods in this car. She hops in, settles down, and watches the world go by.

Sleeping in the MINI

Some of the best nights on the road have been spent sleeping in the car. The Countryman's rear seats fold flat enough to fit a sleeping pad, and with the right setup it's genuinely comfortable — which I figured out early on and have leaned into ever since. It keeps things simple: no tent to pitch, no campsite reservation needed, just pull off somewhere good and call it home for the night.

In 2024 we participated in MINI Takes the States — a cross-country rally that brings together MINI drivers from all over to drive a planned route across the US together. It's exactly the kind of trip the Countryman was built for, and sleeping in the car along the way made it feel even more like a proper adventure. If you want the full setup breakdown, I wrote about how I sleep in my MINI Cooper — gear, layout, everything.

What a MINI is Really For

People assume a road trip car needs to be big. It doesn't. What it needs to be is reliable, fun to drive, and just the right size to remind you that you're moving through something larger than yourself. The Countryman fits everything Sora and I need, handles mountain passes without drama, squeezes into the spots everyone else passes up, and still feels like a car worth driving just for the pleasure of driving it.

If you're a MINI driver wondering whether you can do the big trips — whether the car is up to it, whether you'll feel limited — you won't. The only limit is where you decide to stop. And so far, we haven't found that place yet.